


Paint by Numbers

by parkguardian



Category: South Park
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:38:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkguardian/pseuds/parkguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan gets distracted easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint by Numbers

One.

Stan's hands were cold, tracing up and down Kyle's pale skin. Kyle was impossibly thin, his hipbones sharp ridges under Stan's flattened palms. He could feel the wild fluttering of Kyle's heartbeat, like a bird stuck in the cage of his ribs.

Two, three, four, five, six.

Kyle kept his gaze fiercely fixated on Stan, his fingers caught in Stan's dark hair, pulling gently. Stan felt Kyle's chest move as he sucked in a gasp.

Seven, eight, nine.

His hands went back down to his stomach, skittering over the warm skin. Kyle pushed his hips up into Stan's, insistent this time. Stan ignored him.

Ten.

He heard Kyle swallow, nearly choking on his tongue as Stan's blunt nails scraped down his sides. His head fell back, the loose curls ringing around him. His hair was dark red, a pool of blood in stark contrast to the white pillowcase.

Eleven, twelve, and thirteen.

Stan stopped moving entirely, watching the slope of Kyle's nose and the quirk in his brow. Kyle's eyes had slipped shut, lashes dark and long, curled like his hair. His mouth twitched impatiently to the side. Kyle whined audibly.

Thirteen. Did he already say thirteen? Fuck, he got distracted. Fourteen, then.

He moved his hands down more, undoing the button in Kyle's jeans and pushing them down Kyle's thighs. He pressed a faint kiss to Kyle's thigh, but nothing more.

Fifteen. Sixteen.

Kyle's fingers came loose in Stan's hair, threading through it instead of merely gripping on. Kyle propped himself up as best he could, trapped under Stan. He shifted his weight, skin eliciting a soft noise as it moved against the sheets.

"Stan," he groaned.  
  
Stan's focus broke, his ice blue eyes meeting Kyle's. He blinked, a sheepish smile quirking across his lips.

"Sorry," he said.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, frowning.

"Um. Counting your freckles?"

Kyle's face went bright red. "Did you count the ones on my face?"

"'scuse me?"

"The ones on my face. Did you count them?"

Stan's hands stilled on Kyle's thighs. His mouth opened to reply, but Kyle dragged him up the length of his own body to get Stan closer. Kyle brought his hands up to hold onto Stan's shoulders, keeping him in place as he bit Stan's lip. Then, there was the smooth slide of Kyle's tongue across his mouth. He kissed him roughly, his hands drifting down Stan's torso and to the waistband to his briefs.

They paused, breaking away for air. Stan slumped against Kyle, pressing his forehead into the crook of Kyle's neck. His breath was warm, panted and fanning across Kyle's bare skin. He let out a quiet laugh, then moved to look into Kyle's eyes again.

Kyle didn't say anything, just watched as Stan's eyes flickered back and forth. He looked along the bridge of Kyle's nose, counted even the faded specks at the rise of Kyle's cheekbones.

"There's too many," he said finally.

Kyle's nose scrunched up as he laughed, his face turning red again. He kissed Stan between the laughter, softer each time.

"I love you."

Stan leaned over and bit Kyle's shoulder. Kyle made a big show of acting offended, going as far as scoffing and slapping Stan's stomach lightly. Stan smiled against Kyle's skin.

"I love you too, fuckwad."

"Don't call me a fuckwad!" Kyle squawked. "You're the one who can't count."

"Pants off," Stan said, sliding one hand up under Kyle's back, lifting him up so the other could yank Kyle's jeans and boxers down in one go. Kyle yelped in surprise, his nails digging into Stan's waist, leaving the impressions of crescents behind.

Cold air hit his bare skin in a wash. He wiggled his hips a little, kicking his pants over the edge of the bed. Kyle demanded that Stan also be naked, tugging at the edge of Stan's briefs. He complied quickly, then leaned over Kyle and dug around the side table drawer. He fished out the bottle of lube, slicking it over his fingers.

"Good?"

"You tell me, Stan," Kyle deadpanned. "You haven't _done_ anything yet."

Stan blew a stray piece of hair from his eyes, looking back up at Kyle with a smirk. "I haven't done anything but you were still making cute little gasping noises," he said.

"Get in me or get out of my house."

Stan pressed his index finger up into Kyle, feeling the dragging pressure of Kyle's nails on his back. He worked his way up to a second finger, even though Kyle was insisting that he would be okay.

"I don't want to hurt you," Stan sighed.

Kyle shivered when Stan curled his finger. Stan dipped down, kissing Kyle's stomach.

"You won't hurt me," Kyle said. "We've done stuff before, it's not like--oh, fuck."

He flicked his tongue across the head of Kyle's dick, the salt sting taste of precum hitting him like a punch in the jaw. He twisted his fingers a little more before retracting, pulling them from Kyle slowly. He pushed Kyle's legs apart, settling between them and looking up at Kyle.

"Stan, come on," Kyle urged.

"I'm just. I'm taking my time, okay?"

"I can see that."

Kyle sat up, forcing his weight onto Stan and pushing him onto his back. Stan made a noise, protesting as Kyle climbed on top of him. The light through the sheer blinds illuminated Kyle's skin. He was so pale, he looked transparent, his skinny legs straddling Stan's thighs. Stan lost all ability of witty remarks, a dizziness coming over him.

"Oh, wow."

"What?"

"You're--you're so," he stammered. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Seriously, you're still not over that? You've seen me hundreds of times!"  
  
Stan let out a nervous, breathy laugh, looking away from Kyle's blushing face. Kyle rolled his eyes and muttered something, then lined himself up with Stan. They both went silent, Kyle adjusting to the feeling as he sat completely still, Stan letting his hands settle around Kyle's hips.

"Fuck," Stan bit out. Kyle nodded, closing his eyes and moving a little on Stan's lap. Stan pushed up into the motions, meeting Kyle's shallow thrusts. Kyle had a habit of letting out hiccupy laughter between his gasps, elated and breathless as he rode Stan into the clean sheets of the mattress. Stan loosely jerked Kyle off, precum sticky between their stomachs. Kyle leaned more against Stan, panting out a frazzled stream of expletives.

Kyle suddenly tightened around Stan, cum streaking down Stan's torso, sticky and warm. Stan felt heat flash down his neck and he whimpered quietly, leaving red streaks of scratches down Kyle's back as he came a few moments following.

"That was."

"Really gay?"

"Shut up, oh my god."

Stan was careful as he pulled out of Kyle, wiping at the cum across his chest and streaking it down Kyle's shoulder.

"Gross, dude," Kyle frowned. He fell back against the pillows and stretched his arms up over his head. Stan stuck his fingers under Kyle's arm, wriggling them around until Kyle was rolling off the bed with laughter.

Stan cleaned off the remainder of the sticky mess on his skin with the tangled sheets. He balled them up and threw them in the direction of the hamper. Kyle didn't move off the shaggy gray carpet until Stan stepped over him and pulled him up.

"Shower?" Kyle asked.

"I was thinking of sleeping first."

"No, you're disgusting. I'm disgusting. I have, like, chilled sweat and--I can't actually tell if it's mine or yours, but there's cum still on my stomach, and it's also getting cold--"

"Okay, okay, jeez."

Kyle beamed at him. He had to nudge himself up on his toes to press a kiss to Stan's lips. He ruffled his fingers back through Stan's hair. He turned back around and disappeared into the tiled bathroom.

Oh.

A smattering of freckles were running along Kyle's shoulder blades. Stan tried to remember what number he'd left off on from earlier, to no avail.

"I think I have to start over," he said aloud.


End file.
